


apologies

by bestie



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: (So Mostly Kayfabe Compliant), Angst, Denial of Feelings, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Intergender Wrestling, Kayfabe Compliant, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2018-12-17 10:50:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11850036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bestie/pseuds/bestie
Summary: It's hard enough trying to apologize to the man you've put through years of pain and heartache, but when you throw Bray Wyatt, who's hellbent on getting you to join his cult, into the mix? Things get messy.Reverse: It's hard enough trying to get the man who's put you through years of pain and heartache to apologize, but when you throw Bray Wyatt, who's hellbent on destroying you because you're 'in the way', into the mix? Things get really fucking messy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i started writing this like maybe a month before The Storyline started and then i set it aside for a while. but then The Storyline happened. and is currently happening. so now i'm like, well, great. okay. thanks WWE. way to just completely retcon my entire fic. super nice of you. :'|
> 
> note that settings and timeline stuff are probably definitely fucked with at least a little bit, because i won't lie, it's hard to keep track of everything and i don't put as much effort into researching this as i should before i write!

“Why are you fighting with him?”

Seth stops, one foot already in the door to Roman and Dean’s room backstage, as he realizes he’s interrupting what must be an important conversation between the two of them.

Roman looks aside at Dean, but his gaze travels farther, his brow furrowing. He sees Seth. “What?”

“He stabbed you in the back,” Dean continues. He sits with his shoulders hunched forward, hands in his jacket’s pockets, as if he’s shuttering himself against a cold wind that doesn’t exist. “I mean, if you wanna get real technical about it, then he _hit_ you in the back with a  _metal chair_. Both of us. Me more than you, but, still, the thought’s what counts, yeah? Right?”

“Yeah, right,” says Roman, slowly. He shifts his gaze away from Seth and back onto Dean without mentioning him. “Wasn’t a very nice thought.”

Seth grimaces. This definitely feels like something he shouldn’t be hearing – and, if he were to be truthful, he doesn’t _want_ to, because this is a time he’s tried to push past and forget, and yet neither of them have – but he still stays, because Roman seems to want him to. He stands there awkwardly, hands wringing behind his back, waiting for this to be over and done with.

“Exactly,” says Dean. “So I just don’t get why you’re fighting with him. _With_ him. The two of you, together, fighting other people, even after knowing what he can do to us— _you_.”

Roman gives him a small, amused smile. “You worried he’s gonna hit me in the back with a chair again?”

“Well,” Dean mutters. He doesn’t continue, just shrugs his shoulders a bit and nods his head.

“Dean,” says Roman, “I’m not an idiot. I think it’s safe to say that I expect him to stab me in the back as much as I do you.”

Dean straightens up, fixing a glare on Roman. “The hell is that supposed to mean? I wouldn’t—”

“You’d do whatever it takes to get a title,” Roman says placatingly. “You know it, I know it. So would Seth. Hell, I would, too. Just about anybody here would. I just wouldn’t do it with a metal chair.”

And now Roman’s looking at Seth again, grinning at him; Dean finally seems to notice that Roman isn’t paying full attention to him, and he turns, looking over his shoulder to see Seth still standing there, one foot in the door like an idiot.

“What the fuck do _you_ want?” Dean asks—demands, more like. It doesn’t seem like he realizes Seth’s been there a lot longer than an opportune second or two.

Seth nearly laughs, despite himself. “I just...came to get Roman. We should be going on soon. Didn’t want him all the way back here when his intro hits.”

With a groan more befitting an elderly man than a man in his prime, Roman hefts himself up. “Thanks, Seth. So kind of you.”

“Yeah, well.” Seth shrugs his shoulders. “It’d make me look like an idiot too, so, whatever.”

Roman’s eyes narrow, but there’s a little upwards twitch to his lips that makes him still look more amused than upset.

Dean, on the other hand, looks pissed. “See?” he says, gesturing harshly in Seth’s direction. “Told you.”

\- - - - - - -

They pass each other in the hall later that night.

Seth only stops because he hears Dean stop.

(Or at least that’s what he’ll tell himself later tonight when he’s stuck awake, nursing his injuries while watching crappy infomercials and wondering why he’s such an _idiot_.)

“Sucks,” says Dean. “About tonight, I mean. Real bummer, huh?”

Seth swallows thickly. He’s not looking at Dean, and isn’t sure if he even could bring himself to. “What the hell do you want?” he demands, avoiding answering Dean’s own question because they both know what it is, anyway. Dean doesn’t need him to confirm it. “If you’re just here to rub salt into my wounds, then leave me alone, Ambrose.”

Dean whistles. “Jesus, you’re wound up.”

“Can you really blame me?” says Seth.

“Nah,” says Dean, all casual and easy, as if they aren’t two people who’ve fought tooth and nail time and time again. “Not really.”

Seth stands there a moment in silence, wonders if it’s worth it to give Dean a scathing reply and watch as their interaction tumbles downward into nothing but fists and kicks and holds — and then he decides against that, and keeps walking.

\- - - - - - -

They’re both waiting their turn to see one of the training center nurses. Worked too hard, got too rough. No surprise there.

“Do you still not trust me?” Seth asks, like it’s just an everyday conversation.

It’s probably a shitty way to start things off.

“Dunno,” says Dean. “Not really.”

But of course Dean manages to roll along with it.

He watches Seth with an intensity as he says that, jaw relaxing, chewed gum poking in and out from behind lips like a mischievous tongue. It’s disgusting, and Seth hates it; Dean knows. “You haven’t even apologized yet,” he continues.

Bewilderment is an understatement of the expression that appears on Seth’s face. “Apologized for what?”

“Stabbing us in the back.” Dean shrugs his shoulders, as nonchalant as ever, but there’s a strain to his voice that’s hard to miss. “You’ve apologized for everything _but_ that, it feels like.”

The weight of the guilt Seth feels is instant and crushing, but there’s something else there, too, lingering in the back of his mind. He’s _supposed_ to regret it. A large part of him _does_. But he wonders, sometimes, if things truly could have gone any differently. If the Shield could have stayed together and not gone up in flames. If he and Dean could’ve—

Seth breathes out heavily. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath. “I… Yeah.”

“Yeah?” says Dean. His gum pops. “Right, _yeah_. I get it.”

“Dean—” Seth starts to say, but Dean shakes his head, holds up a hand and, for a brief second, a middle finger.

“I _get it_ ,” Dean repeats, drawling his words out with a familiar tone of annoyance. “Too great to apologize, huh? Should’ve expected that from O’ Great Seth, the Kingslayer, but—”

Seth interrupts him sharply with, “At least let me say _something_ ,” and when Dean doesn’t speak, only stares at him, slightly wide-eyed and waiting, he continues, “You’re right, okay? You’re – you’re one-hundred percent right, and I…am sorry that I’ve never apologized for it.”

Dean scoffs. “But you’re still not apologizing for _it_ ,” he says. “You’re just apologizing for not apologizing. Like, what—do I look stupid to you or something, Seth?”

“No, you don’t, and that’s why I _haven’t_ apologized yet,” Seth snaps, the words just tumbling out of his mouth, one after another without stopping. “I’m not going to force an apology when I don’t think I’ve earned the right to even _say_ those goddamned words to you. You don’t deserve that. I want to _prove_ it to you.”

There’s a heavy pause then as Dean just—stares at Seth, mouth slightly ajar, his gum peeking out from the corner of his lips. He’s thinking. And then, quietly, unexpectedly, he laughs. “Now I see why the fans are so head-over-heels for you,” he says, jaw tightening.

Seth bites back a retort, settles for rolling his eyes. There’s people watching them now; they’re trying to be discreet, but they’re really, definitely not succeeding, and he could do without Owens eyeing them with interest or Bayley ogling at them from across the room. “Whatever,” is all he gets to mutter before the nurse is calling him back, and he’s able to escape this situation relatively unscathed.

\- - - - - - -

Dean looks wild, almost savage, his face red and his knuckles raw. There’s a fist-sized dent in the wall, and a bunch of storage boxes have been kicked over and stomped on. Seth hasn’t seen him this upset in a long, long time, and he almost turns heel and walks in the opposite direction even though it’ll add an unnecessary few minutes to his walk, not sure if he has the right to see him like this.

But he doesn’t turn and leave.

Of course, he doesn’t.

“Sucks,” he says quietly; too loud and he’ll startle Dean – he knows this, remembers this, because he’s done this plenty of times before, calming him down in the wake of a bad match. “About tonight, I mean.”

Dean’s fingers twitch, and his shoulders square. He’s looking at Seth, eyes narrowed and focused in on him, yet there’s still something off about it, like he isn’t all there. “Oh, _fuck_ you,” he spits out. “Don’t – don’t try this shit with me. Not tonight.”

 _He’s upset_ , Seth reminds himself, pushing back against the indignation that bubbles up at the insinuation that there’s some less-than-good intentions behind him trying to comfort Dean. “Not trying anything,” he says.

“I don’t believe you,” Dean snaps.

“That’s—” Seth starts to say _ridiculous_ but he pauses, takes a breath, and then only says, “okay.”

He holds his hands up as if he’s surrendering, and in a way, he is. He’s surrendering himself to Dean’s anger, because it’s rightful, all of it – Dean’s anger at him, Dean’s anger over the outcome of tonight’s match, Dean’s anger at the way he’s being treated by his opponents and non-opponents and management and the commentators and, really, (Seth realizes this with a bit of a startle) just about _everyone_. It’s okay for him to not believe Seth. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth to admit it, but if Seth was in Dean’s position, he’s not sure if he’d believe himself either.

Seth continues, slowly, “You don’t have to. I don’t blame you for that. But my only interest here is helping you, and I’m serious about that, man.”

“I don’t believe you,” Dean repeats. “I don’t, I don’t—” He stumbles forward, hands clenching and unclenching into fists, and for a moment it seems like he’s about to take out his anger on Seth in a very physical, violent way, but then—Dean stops in place, raises a shaking hand to cover his face, and mumbles, “ _Shit_.”

Seth doesn’t move, barely even breathes, only watches as Dean breaks down right there in front of him, from unabashed anger to sadness in a matter of seconds. Dean sits down – practically collapses – on a crumpled box, shoulders shaking, breath hitching, and all Seth can do is watch. This doesn’t feel right, being here in a moment where Dean is so vulnerable; Seth takes a few steps back, his own breath catching in his chest, and says, “Sorry. I’m – sorry. I’ll go. Okay?”

Dean shakes his head. _No_.

The movement in response is so small that Seth doubts he even saw it, but then Dean shakes his head again – _no, don’t_ – and Seth nearly laughs, nearly cries, manages to not do either of those things, and sits himself down on the floor, next to Dean, whose cardboard throne looks oddly befitting for a mourning king.

“It sucks,” Seth murmurs. “It does. I know. I’m sorry, Dean.”

They sit mostly in silence after that, save for the occasional not-so-quiet sob from Dean. Seth rests a hand on his shoulder, grip just tight enough to anchor Dean, to remind him that Seth is there with him. In the grand scheme of things, it probably doesn’t mean much, especially coming from him, but Dean doesn’t complain, so he doesn’t leave.

\- - - - - - -

 _thanks_ , says a text, late one night, a couple days after Extreme Rules.

Seth stares at his phone, at the number at the top of the screen that he never could make himself delete, even if he’d erased the name and the picture and the birthday and the email address and everything else to go along with it.

 _It’s fine_ , he replies in the morning, after he’s woken up and had a cup of coffee and time to think.  _No need to thank me_.

Again, the text comes late at night.  _whatever_ , says Dean, once Seth is already asleep and has been for hours.  _you’re still an asshole._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sometimes things happen and you dont plan for them. that's what this entire chapter is. oops!

“You should apologize, too—” Roman starts.

“Absolutely fucking _not_ ,” Dean snarls.

“—is what most people would say,” Roman continues, eyes narrowing at Dean. “Look, man, I don’t…” He stretches out in his seat, arms held high above his head, and lets out a loud, deep sigh. When his arms come back down, one falls on Dean’s back, just draping there lazily. “ _I_ don’t think you should apologize. And I don’t think you should force yourself to forgive him if you don’t want to.”

“Damn, man,” Dean mumbles. He feels exhausted, like he’s just finished running twenty miles. “What if he’s serious, though? What if this isn’t some stupid plan of his? What if he’s actually _trying_?”

Roman sighs again. “Yeah, right. That’d make it more complicated, wouldn’t it?” 

 

\- - - - - - -

 

Two weeks after Extreme Rules.

Dean is still missing his title. Miz is still rubbing it in his face every chance he gets — and tonight, he _literally_ does just that. Just as Miz pries the title away from his face, a familiar song starts playing throughout the arena, and out comes Seth, running like a man on a mission. He helps even the fight out, and he and Dean send the Miztourage running. They work together like they've never fought against each other, and it works perfectly.

The aftermath is what sucks, though.

“I only came out there because he was talking crap about us— _me_ , I mean,” Seth says. He’s got a bloody lip and a blooming bruise on his cheek, but he’s holding himself like he’s just _won._ “So, just...don’t, y’know, get it all twisted or anything.”

“Right,” says Dean. He has to squint at Seth through his good eye, because the other is red and swollen from Miz attempting to dig his fingernails into his eye. “Don’t get into my business again,” he says next, because they both know that in situations like this, Seth can be either a horrible liar or the best there ever was.

“I won’t,” Seth says. It’s so sincere that it sounds like a promise.

Later that night, The Miz attacks Seth after Jordan's already ducked out of the ring and headed backstage. Seth’s been beaten once already; it’s not _fair_.

And so later that night — not even later in the week, or the month, or even the damn year, Dean has to stop Seth in the hallway to say, “I didn’t do that for you, so don’t go thinkin’ I’m trusting you again, ‘cause I’m not.”

His eye is turning black and blue now, on top of the red and swelling.

 _Don’t get into my business_ , he says, and then he immediately goes and gets himself all tangled in Seth’s business, because it’s _Seth_ and Dean is an _idiot_ (he’ll tell himself this later, when he’s stuck awake past midnight and nursing his injuries, eating greasy pizza and chugging cheap beer) who can’t seem to stay away, even when such a big part of him _wants_ to.

“I know,” says Seth, and he’s gotten quiet all of a sudden, won’t even look Dean in the eye.

They both know that Dean does nothing but wear his heart out on his sleeve.

For a second, Dean’s mind jumps to _metal chairs_. And then, in the next second, it jumps to _he had my back and I didn’t even need to ask_. Then, _fuck_. ( _I had his back and he didn’t even ask._ )

“Okay,” says Dean. His voices sounds far-away, and he’s not sure if Seth can hear that too. “Okay, that’s - good. Long as you know.” He raises a hand in a half-hearted wave and then gets the hell out of that hallway before he does anything even more stupid.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

Seth doesn’t come out the next week to help him, just like he promised.

As Dean lies there on the ground, fighting to breathe against the sharp pain in his ribs, listening to Miz and Maryse and their goons taunt him like their victory actually means something, he has only one thought on his mind:  _Could’ve used a second pair of fists to even these odds._ (There’s another thought, too, lingering in the back of his mind, which is something along the lines of _a third pair would’ve been even better_.)

When Bray shows up after Seth’s victory against Heath, Dean doesn’t go out, either. He holes himself up in the locker room with an ice pack, a protein bar, and an hour-long nap before he needs to get driving to the next city.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

Dean is backstage when the lights go off. A few people gasp, a few groan, and he hears Elias stop strumming his guitar to say, “God damn it, _Wyatt._ ”

When they flicker back on, everyone continues with what they were doing. Except for Dean. He stands there a moment, looking around at everyone and everything, and then makes a beeline for the nearest television.

There’s an empty viewing room further up the hall, and he makes it just in time to see what all the fans are seeing: Bray having stolen control of the titantron to broadcast from a dark, dank room somewhere in the arena, and Seth standing there in the ring, having just beaten Jason in a one-off match that won’t matter to either of them next week.

Bray cackles, and his eyes look alight, as if they’re reflecting on the lights of his fireflies that have popped up all across the crowd in the arena. “Oh, Seth,” he coos, “there you go again, trying so hard to prove yourself.” He cackles again, a hand coming up to cup his chin as if he’s deep in thought. “But...who is it that you’re trying to prove yourself to? Ambrose and Reigns? The fans? _Yourself_?”

Seth starts to say something, but he doesn’t have a microphone. Even though Dean can’t hear his words, he can almost imagine them based on the irritated expression on Seth’s face: _Piss off, leave me alone, let me celebrate my win in peace, you freak—_

“Ah-ah,” says Bray. “No speaking. You listen to _me_.”

Seth’s mouth shuts so quickly that it looks automatic.

(Dean whistles at that. He might hate Bray and everything he stands for, but there was no denying that he could be impressive when given a chance. Hell, he’d stopped pretending to understand how Bray even worked years ago.)

“I know you doubt me, Seth Rollins. I know you don’t believe in my power.” Bray’s eyes close and he shakes his head, disappointed, disapproving, _bad bad bad_ , and when Bray thinks you’ve done something bad, it’s - bad. He sighs deeply, head tilting back, and then, suddenly, it sharply turns to the side. His eyes open wide - wider than they really need to be, and he smiles. “You will learn. _Believe that_.”

The lights cut out again. Bray’s logo flashes on the screen, and when the lights come back on and the logo is gone, Seth is standing there in the ring, looking like he just saw God.

Jason stands up and, cautiously, comes up behind Seth and puts a hand on his shoulder.

 _Shit_ , Dean sees Seth say, sees the way he jumps and seems to snap out of it, whatever _it_ even is.

There’s a funny feeling in the pit of Dean’s stomach, and he’s not sure if it’s from the catering or if it’s from the way his mind lingers on Bray’s suggestion of Seth trying to prove himself.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

Another week passes by.

There’s a pay-per-view tonight. Matches have been set up, carefully controlled like puppets on strings, to get some of the best content for it. Dean’s still screwing with the Miz, per Kurt’s orders, and he’s not complaining; he figures the upper guys will give him this one last chance to earn his title back, and if he doesn’t, they’ll force him to move on.

But that’s fine. It’s whatever. He doesn’t need it. He just—

Yeah, no, he needs it.

Grumbling to himself, Dean continues down the hallway he’s been wandering in the past fifteen minutes or so. He’s somewhere deep in this week’s arena, already having ignored two _Arena Staff Only_ signs of increasing bright-yellow-and-bold-letters importance, and one sign that said _Use Proper Ear Protection When Entering_. Either he’s gone deaf or there just isn’t any noise loud enough to cause concern. He pauses outside a door with another _Arena Staff Only_ sign, ponders over it for a second or two, and then pushes it open.

“Are you serious?”

It’s Seth.

Alright, so Dean’s not deaf, at least.

This seems like something he probably shouldn’t be witnessing. A meeting this far into the arena is nothing but secretive. He lingers in the doorway as he debates whether he should turn and go find his way to catering instead, but this – this is _interesting_. He can’t leave.

“Yes, Seth, I am,” says Kurt. He’s speaking slowly, and his lips are pursed thin, his patience probably even thinner. “Bray had all the paperwork turned in. He came to see me earlier today and made a good case, so I granted him the match. That’s all there is to it. You can petition it if you want, or you could just not show up, but that’s all on you.”

“Oh my God. You guys have been putting me and Jason in matches for _weeks_ and we don’t even hate each other! Now all of a sudden, what, because _Wyatt_ gets in some stupid paperwork, you’re gonna throw all this away? We’ve been busting our asses to make this work, Kurt!”

“I know, I know,” Kurt says, holding his hands up like he’s either surrendering or trying to defend himself (or both), “and believe me, Seth, I appreciate the work you guys have put in here. But like I’ve said, Bray made a good case, got all his paperwork in, and I’m not about to turn something like that down. The system we have is designed to—”

“This system is _shit_ ,” Seth spits out, digging the toe of his boot into the floor, like he’s stomping somebody’s face in.

“S’only shit when you’re not the one getting the matches you want,” Dean pipes in.

Both Seth and Kurt turn, eyes widening, to look at Dean. Maybe he should’ve stayed quiet, but it was too opportune a moment to miss out on. He waggles his fingers at the two of them, and Seth’s entire face scrunches up at him.

“What the hell are you trying to insinuate, Ambrose?” Seth demands.

“Dunno, man,” Dean says with a shrug. His mouth is running faster than his brain can really take the time to think over what he’s saying, and maybe that’s a good thing, maybe it’s bad, but Dean doesn’t care right at this moment. It’s not often he gets the chance to really rub _it_ in Seth’s face. “Just that it must really suck when you don’t have the _authority_ to pick and choose your own matches, huh?”

“Oh, geez,” Kurt mutters. He looks away, holding a hand over his eyes, like he’s shielding them from an incoming storm.

Dean’s hit too close to home, it seems.

The redness starts in the tips of Seth’s ears and spreads all the way down from his cheeks to his neck. He stammers for a moment, brow furrowing, eyes wide, shoulders squared and fists balled up, and for that moment Dean feels like he’s looking into a mirror. Seth is unabashed emotion, _anger_ , and he looks like he’s one second away from punching Dean, throttling Kurt, or kicking down a door, and he seems so _human —_ like something more than an animate punching bag — that it’s almost startling.

And then Seth laughs.

It’s sharp, and it cracks.

“Fine, then,” he says. He’s not looking at Dean. He’s not even looking at Kurt. His eyes are screwed shut, and when they open, they’re focused entirely on the wall, avoiding eye-contact with either of them. “Fucking _fine_. I’ll fight him, Kurt. You’ll get your views. But if it doesn’t get the reaction you want, I’m going back to Jason, and Wyatt can find someone else to screw over.”

Kurt moves his hand away from his eyes, and looks wearily between Seth and Dean. “Alright,” he says. “That’s…good. We can work with that. Thank you, Seth.”

“Whatever,” Seth mutters. He brushes past Kurt, heading straight for Dean, but even as he gets closer, his eyes never settle on Dean’s face. He’s looking at the floor, now. When he gets to the doorway that Dean’s still standing in, he says, quietly, “Move.”

Dean doesn’t often find himself frozen, but now, he stands there and just - stares at Seth. A part of him feels pride in having done this to him, having gotten such a visceral response out of him, but it’s wavering against the other part of him that feels - what, _bad? guilty?_ for doing this to Seth.

He opens his mouth, struggles to get the word, “I’m,” out in all its hoarse glory, as if he can’t even really believe he’s saying that one little word, and that’s when Seth finally looks up at him.

“Don’t,” Seth says, interrupting him. There’s something desperate in his voice; he’s practically _begging_.  “Just - don’t.”

Dean says nothing, just backs up, moving aside to make room for Seth to brush past him. He gets a look at Kurt, who’s staring at him with an expression that’s become so usual to see - absolute, utter confusion - before the door slams shut.

The next word Dean was about to say hangs heavy on his tongue as he listens to Seth’s footsteps fading away.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright, so fair warning: this chapter is super experimental. longer (just by a bit!), more wrestlers sprinkled in, and the continuation of a plotline that i, to be quite honest, don't know where i'm going with! i also threw in intergender wrestling because, i mean, why the hell not. it's my fic so with some hand-wavey magic, intergender wrestling is totally a thing now. yay!
> 
> but anyways, let me know what yall think! do you like the wrestler cameos, or does it get too hectic/confusing? is the (slightly) longer length good or is shorter better? etc etc. i looove seeing comments, so thanks so much to those who've left some already!! enjoy this chapter, everyone <3

Seth is backstage, waiting for his entrance music to drop, when he sees Dean.

Dean stops walking, and Seth stops breathing.

They meet eyes for a second.

“Hey!”

Dean flinches, ripping away from the eye-contact to look at the source of the voice: Alexa. She’s stomping in Dean’s direction, lips pulled tight into a frown.

“Come _on_ , Dean, we gotta go! If we don’t, _you know_ ,” she continues, lowering her voice a notch as she leans in, almost conspiratorial, “then we’re gonna be screwed with our match tonight!”

“Fine, fine,” Dean grumbles, slinging his arm around Alexa’s shoulder as he starts walking her off in the direction she came from. “Y’know, me teaming up with you doesn’t really fit my, uh, _brand_ …”

“Oh, what- _ever_ ,” Alexa snaps back in return. “Just be glad you don’t have to be all stupid goody-two-shoes for once tonight. Crowd’s gonna love it.”

Seth watches as Dean sends one last glance his way before he disappears around the corner; it’s almost comical, his mouth pulled into a grimace and his eyes wide, as if he’s saying _help me, she’s gonna kill me_. Seth huffs out a laugh, raises a hand to salute Dean, and then the two of them are gone.

His music goes off a minute later.

Seth turns, swallows thickly, and then heads out into the arena.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

He should’ve never taken the match. Should’ve protested it, should’ve stayed holed up in the back, but Seth let Dean get under his skin, and now he’s here, fighting Bray fucking Wyatt, and he’s _losing_.

There’s something off about Bray tonight, and not in the way that usually means one person’s going to have an advantage over the other. It’s the other way around, somehow. Bray is off, and completely unhinged, but somehow this is working in  _his_ favor. Seth just cannot keep him down, no matter how hard he tries, and it’s starting to wear him out. He’s lost count on how long this match has been going on - fifteen minutes? Hell, maybe even twenty? However long it was, he knew it was definitely over the scheduled time limit, and Kurt was going to be _pissed_.

But they’re on opposite ends of the ring now, and Bray stares at him with wide eyes, barely having broken a sweat. Seth glares back, poised to move.

 _This is stupid_ , Seth thinks to himself as he starts running at Bray head-on.  _You’re stupid. This isn’t going to end well._

And it doesn’t. He collides with Bray, who barely even moves upon impact, just somehow manages to grab Seth by the neck before he can fall backwards. He stumbles instead, legs buckling, and Bray takes advantage of that to pull him out to the center of the ring.

Bray shouts at the fans, riling them up, but Seth doesn’t really take in what he’s saying, only the fact that he _is_ saying something, and then— Bray jostles him, snags his attention just long enough to look Seth dead in the eye, and then—

A Sister Abigail.

“Oh,” Seth breathes, “no, _no._ ”

He digs his heels into the mat in a last-minute attempt to reverse the move, but it’s too late. Bray yanks him up and over his shoulder and down he goes, crashing head-first into the mat. His teeth clack together and it feels like his spine just shot through the top of his head, but through the pain he thinks, with the oddest sense of relief, that _okay_ , _at least it’ll be over now;_ _at least now I can take a breather._

It’s like Bray reads his mind in the worst way possible.

Instead of going for the pin, Bray goes for his throat. He’s rolled onto his side, arms tucked and held painfully behind his back. “Breathe it in, Rollins,” Bray mumbles, almost reverential. He’s so calm that it’s disturbing, and terrifying, and his arm tightens around Seth’s neck, making this situation just that much more horrible. “Breathe in my power and _believe_. You will believe. You _will_.”

Seth can’t breathe. He can’t move to break the hold. He can’t signal to the referee that he wants to tap out. He thinks to himself, briefly: _if this is how I die, they’ll never put me in the Hall of Fame_.

The referee is doing his best to separate the two of them, Seth realizes a moment later, because Bray has stopped mumbling to him and has instead started shouting at the referee, and the referee is shaking them, trying to get in-between Bray’s arm and Seth’s neck to break the hold, but it’s no use, and Seth _tries_ , tries to shake him off but he can’t and it’s getting harder to keep his eyes open and his lungs hurt and all he can do is angle his head up like a drowning swimmer trying to reach the surface and all he can see is the stage lights above him and okay, that’s it, there’s just nothing he can do, is there? Nothing _._

He starts to fade.

And for just a second, Seth doesn’t think that he sees—

He doesn’t think that—

He doesn’t— _think—_

Seth comes to again in minutes that feel like hours later, gasping for breath like a fish out of water. His chest is burning and his head is pounding; he can’t see straight, and when the referee starts firing off question after question ( _What’s your name? What year is it? Who’s the current—?_ ) they blend together with the rest of the sounds around him. All he can say is, “um,” followed by “ugh,” and those are definitely not the right answers.

The referee backs off for a second, standing tall, and Seth watches as he throws his arms up in a big _X_. The bell rings. Match over. Injury.

From somewhere off to his left, he hears Bray start cackling. The fans are screaming at him, booing him, complete vitriol in the wake of this match (if it could even be called a match with how one-sided it was) but all he does is _laugh_ back at them.

“Your winner, by disqualification: Seth Rollins!”

JoJo’s words echo in his head, Bray’s laughter rattles his brain around, and Seth groans, ignoring the referee who’s returned to him in favor of rolling onto his side, covering his ears, and squeezing his eyes shut against the pain.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

Catering is practically abandoned halfway through the show, which makes it a perfect place for Seth to regain his bearings. He’s not sure how he ended up with Finn sitting across the table from him, though.

“What happened tonight?” Finn asks him. “I dunno a single person backstage who expected you to lose - or win by disqualification, I s’pose.”

“Don’t know,” Seth answers, and it’s the truth. His voice is raw, scratchy, and whenever the air hits his throat just right, he keeps launching into another coughing fit. He manages to stifle it this time by taking a sip of hot coffee. “He was just – weird.”

Finn’s lip twitches. A smile? “He’s always weird.”

“Weirder than normal,” Seth amends.

“Yeah, alright. That’s fair.” Finn leans back in his chair, the front legs tipping up as he rocks forward and back. It’s eerily similar to Bray’s old rocking chair. “What about when you passed out, then?”

The mention of _that_ sends a shiver down Seth’s spine. “All I saw was...white, for a second. And I felt like I was still awake. I was still thinking and everything,” he says quietly, fingers clutching his mug of coffee like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. He frowns. “Like I said: weird. That...doesn’t normally happen when I pass out. It went black after that, but, still.”

Finn stares at him without saying anything for awhile, long enough that Seth can get in a few sips of his coffee. It’s not a comfortable silence; if anything, it’s _un_ comfortable. He and Finn aren’t friends - far from it, in fact, but they ended up on amiable enough terms after dealing with rehab together. This is the first time he and Finn have spoken one-on-one since then, and so far, Finn hasn’t been much of a conversation partner.

“Might’ve been the lights trickin’ your brain. You _were_ facin’ up at them when you went out, after all,” Finn finally says. He takes a sip of his own coffee, drawing it out far longer than needed.

“Yeah,” Seth agrees. “Or maybe it was just my imagination.”

Finn keeps staring. “Maybe,” he says.

Seth’s frown only deepens.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

Sasha shakes her head, whispering something to a photographer as Seth passes them in the hall. They both look vaguely sympathetic, and when he meets Sasha’s eyes, she mouths _sorry_ to him. The photographer gives him a sad smile.

Seth keeps walking.

Bayley is next. She abandons Dana (who gives him a little wave and another one of those stupid, sympathetic smiles he’s gotten used to seeing) to run over to him. “Oh my God, Seth, I saw what happened!” she exclaims. She holds her good arm out and gives the one in a sling a little wiggle. _Hug me_ , her body language screams. “That was _so_ wrong of Bray. I’m sorry, Seth. You didn’t deserve that. Nobody does.”

Seth keeps walking.

Braun’s lip curls upwards in a sneer when he sees Seth. “Bray’s the wrong guy to be messin’ with,” he says gruffly.

Seth’s not sure if that’s a threat or a warning or both. He keeps walking.

“You’re stupid,” Alexa says to him as he passes by.

She and Dean are waiting for their match still. They’ve got the main event of the night; it’s an inter-gender match, no disqualifications. The whole night has been leading up to this.

Should Seth stop to listen to her? No. But he does, because he and Dean meet eyes again for a second, and it’s only for a second that he stops in place, but that’s a second long enough for Alexa.

“Like, amazingly stupid,” she continues. The wooden baseball bat in her hand is going a mile a minute, just tap-tapping away on the palm of her other hand as she talks. “Fighting Wyatt when he’s been in one of his moods for weeks is just – _stupid_ . Like, gutsy, sure, and I bet it made some guys in management super happy, but all in all, just totally stupid. What even made you want to do that? Huh? Seriously, that was just _so_ —”

“Okay, thank you, Alexa,” Seth says through gritted teeth. He breathes out deeply, nostrils flaring. It’s taking a considerable effort to not bash himself over the head with her bat. “I think I get it.”

“Hey, she’s right, man.” Dean has a spark in his eye that’s hard to ignore; it’s _too_ bright, and Seth can’t quite look him dead-on. Dean’s draped - hunched, more like - over Alexa, his chest against her back and his arms around her waist. Even his chin is tucked into the crook of her neck. The whole thing would be a vaguely romantic gesture if it wasn’t extremely well-known the two only had a friendship that could described as _tepid tolerance_ for each other. “Stupidest thing so far tonight, and you were the opening match. But you put up a good fight, at least.”

Seth blinks. “What?” There’s no way he heard that right.

“You put up a good fight,” Dean repeats. (Okay, so Seth _did_ hear it right.) “Didn’t expect you to go out there, honestly. But you did, so…” He swings his kendo stick like a nervous kid swings their arms. “I dunno. Whatever. Good job on not dying, I guess.”

Seth blinks again. “I – I think I got some brain damage. Oxygen loss or something.” He shakes his head. “Did you just _compliment_ me?”

Surprise flashes across Dean’s face. As quick as it’s there, it’s gone again, replaced by something akin to frustration. “Oh, shut up,” he scoffs, pulling off of Alexa and making a move like he’s about to swing his stick right into Seth’s arm. “Not a compliment. Just a comment.”

“Right, yeah,” says Seth.

He shifts on his feet, watching as Dean seems suddenly intent on avoiding all eye-contact with him and instead focuses in on the wall. Alexa, on the other hand, refuses to break eye-contact with him; her eyes seem to bore right into his soul. It’s creepy.

“Well,” he continues slowly, taking a couple steps back. “Thanks? And, uh, good luck tonight, I guess. See ya around.”

Dean doesn’t look at him. Alexa continues to stare him down.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

The main event tonight has no favorite to win. Alexa and Dean have fought together – and against each other – before, so their team-up isn’t too surprising, and Alicia and Elias are uniting under a common cause: to beat someone they hate, and help the other beat who they hate.

A group of wrestlers had all crowded together backstage to watch the fight, and Seth finds himself among them. His headache is steadily growing worse, but it’s worth ignoring in favor of catching this match, he figures.

(“I’m tellin’ you,” says Enzo, pointing a finger at the television, “Elias is gonna bust their heads in with his stupid, tacky guitar, and then Alicia’s gonna shove them feathers of hers right up in their—”

Neville practically _hisses_ at Enzo. “Shut _up_ ,” he orders. “Do not finish that sentence.”

“Was gonna say their _mouths_ , ya dipstick,” Enzo snaps in response.)

(“No way they can win. I mean, Alicia and Elias haven’t fought together, like, _ever_ ,” Dana murmurs in an aside to Bayley.

“That’s pretty true,” Bayley replies, just as quietly. “Not to mention they can both be pretty...explosive, huh?”

Both of them burst into a fit of giggles, their attention rapt on the television.)

When Dean’s music drops, everyone goes silent. He comes out swinging — literally, as he swings his kendo stick like it’s a projectile weapon. Fired up beyond belief, Dean gets the crowd as wild as he is; he looks happy, almost, even with the looming threat of a guitar to the head.

The smooth fade-in to Alexa’s music has a few ‘ooh’s ripple through the gaggle of wrestlers watching. She’s considerably more calm compared to Dean, standing her ground and sweeping her gaze across the arena, judgmental and poised like the Goddess she proclaims to be. They walk to the ring together; Dean launches himself over the ropes, bouncing on his feet as he waits for Alexa to slide between the middle and top rope. They parade around the ring for a minute, until Alexa has to remind him that they need to get out so Alicia and Elias can do their entrance.

And their entrance is surprisingly cohesive. They come out to Elias strumming his guitar in replacement of their intro songs, and Alicia’s usual fast-paced, upbeat little dance with her feathered fans is decidedly more subdued tonight. She flutters her eyelashes and her fans at the crowd as she descends down the ramp to the ring, Elias by her side.

“Who do you think is gonna win tonight, Seth?” Bayley asks, turning to look at him over her shoulder. She still gets a little misty-eyed when they make eye contact.

Seth tucks his chin into his chest and shrugs his shoulders. “No idea. It’s kind of a wildcard.”

“What? Really?” Enzo exclaims. He turns too, abandoning the television in favor of goggling at Seth. “Thought you was gonna say Dean! I mean, you two, you’re all, like, schmoopy and buddy-buddy again, ain’t you?”

It’s a miracle Seth doesn’t grind his teeth into non-existence. “No,” he says shortly.

Enzo waves a hand dismissively. “Bah. So you say, my man. But just watch it – couple weeks down the road, the two of you are gonna be—”

“Oh, _dude_ ,” T.J. suddenly says, to which Enzo throws him an exasperated look. He blinks, looking back at him with a brow raised. “What? Dude, seriously, look at the friggin’ TV.”

Seth is glad for a moment of reprise, but it comes at a cost. He groans as Dean gets a blow to the head by – no surprise – Elias’s guitar.

Blood and spit go flying, and Bayley gasps out, “Oh, no! He got Dean in the mouth!”

It’s not a pretty sight.

They’re maybe a minute into the match and it’s already going downhill. Alexa and Alicia start brawling outside the ring, and Alexa swings the bat with no regards for who or what it hits; the ref is momentarily distracted when the bat collides with the barrier in front of the fans’ seating, and he starts shouting at the two of them to knock it off.

“And – and there goes Elias with another smack upside the head!” Corey shouts over commentary. “That’s just— I mean, come on, it’s totally unprofessional, but by God, it is _tacky_ too.”

“Gotta remember this is a no-DQ match, though,” Booker says. “Anything goes, man, and Elias is smart bringin’ a guitar to a stick fight.”

“No, that’s _stupid_ ,” Corey and Seth both say at the same time.

Corey goes on to say, “Who does that? Who brings an expensive, treasured possession to a fight against _Dean Ambrose,_  a guy that never knows when to quit? What’s Elias going to do once that guitar smashes — jam a couple of strings into his arm?”

Seth mutters under his breath, “Wouldn’t put it past him.”

The ref is still distracted when Elias swings the guitar again, and this time, it smashes, splinters of wood flying everywhere. Just as Elias seizes a large splinter and goes for Dean’s face with it, the ref finally turns his attention back to them and he shouts, arms waving wildly above his head as he runs forward. Elias jerks his arm back at the last moment and sends the splinter flying out of the ring instead, and Seth can see Dean visibly sag with relief.

With the guitar gone, the match manages to proceed in a somewhat-normal fashion. Dean gets a few hits on Elias with his kendo stick before Alicia tags herself in and snaps the stick in half, then starts walloping Dean with one of the broken halves. He lands a punch good enough to stun her just long enough to tag Alexa in, and later she tags Dean back in, and then Elias is tagged in, and then…

On and on it goes. It's a good match, but Seth's only half-watching, the other half of his attention spent trying to keep himself awake.

“It’s almost ten,” Enzo announces to the rest of the watchers. “Like, 9:59, if we’re gonna be real exact. Th’hell they doin’, goin to overtime after the whole debacle with— Aw, _fuck_.”

The power goes out.

Seth’s blood runs cold. He's wide awake, suddenly.

When it comes back on seconds later, the only people in the ring are Dean and — Bray.

Bray is standing in the middle of the ring with Dean in the position for a Sister Abigail. He’s staring right at the hard camera. “Are you watching, Rollins?” he screams at the camera, laughter creeping around the edges of his words.

Just as he puts his signature move into motion, the show cuts to commercial.

Someone turns the television off, and the room falls into a tense silence. Bayley sniffles, and Neville clears his throat rather harshly, but nobody _says_ anything. Nobody even moves, all uneager to venture out into the halls to hear about what’d happened after the cut to commercial. Instead, one by one, everyone turns, looking at Seth expectantly, as if he’s suddenly some sort of _expert_ on all things Bray Wyatt.

“Don’t look at me,” he croaks out. It’s hard to breathe again. His head is pounding. There’s guilt laying heavy on his tongue, rising in his throat like bile. He makes a move for the door and nobody stops him. “I don’t — I don’t know.”

_Are you doing this for Dean?_

Seth is the first out of the room. He mutters some bullshit excuse and slams the door shut behind himself, hurrying in the direction of the entrance to the ring.

The lights haven’t gone out yet. Bray’s still out there.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooo, i went back and edited the previous chapters because i realized i fucked up the timeline a bit, just like i said i would lol. there's also just some regular continuity errors (names, mainly) that i fixed up. it's nothing major, though, so there's really no need to re-read stuff unless you want to! the biggest change is that i made the event in the end of chapter 2/chapter 3/this chapter the GBOF PPV instead of a regular ol' monday night Raw. steady pacing who? i don't know her! ANYWAYS. enjoy, folx.

When the lights go off, Dean assumes it’s a last-minute ditch effort by Elias and Alicia to throw him and Alexa off so they can secure the win. But then he sees Bray’s logo flash on the titantron, and the way the stadium immediately lights up with fans’ phone lights, and he knows this is something far worse. With even the glow of the titantron gone, Dean can’t see his hands held out in front of him; he can’t make out Elias, or Alicia, or Alexa; the crowd is like a wall of noise, complete chaos and confusion.

He blinks, and in that one blink, the lights are back on, Elias is on the ground outside the ring, and Alexa and Alicia have both considerably paled, like they’ve just seen a ghost.

It feels like there’s eyes boring into the back of his head.

Dean turns maybe halfway around before Bray is grabbing him by the shoulder and finishing the turn for him. The hand on his shoulder slides around his neck to his other shoulder, and in one smooth move, Bray dips him down, getting him in the position for a Sister Abigail.

Dean is sure he looks wild-eyed, rabid. He kicks his feet and scratches at Bray’s arm, even tries biting at him, but Bray’s grip only tightens as he screams out, “Are you watching, Rollins?”

And then Bray plants a kiss to Dean’s forehead and they both go down.

He hears Alexa scream, too - not in fear, but in _anger_.

The world is spinning around him as he manages to roll onto his stomach and start to pull himself up. His fingers scrabble against the floor of the ring, trying to find something to grip onto but coming up with nothing. His eyes are watering and his neck is sore from the impact. He can hear Bray stirring beside him, starting to get up too.

All Dean wants— _needs_ to do is make it to the ropes so he can pull himself up, put up a damn fight. But Bray moves faster than him, and he feels Bray’s hands catch him under his arms, lifting him up like he weighs nothing.

“Seth doesn’t believe,” he hears Bray whisper into his ear. “He is a liar—” Bray hoists him up higher, onto his shoulders, as Dean tries to fight against it. “—a man who refuses to accept the  _truth_.” With a shout, Bray slams Dean back-first to the floor. He shifts so easily, nearly inhuman-like, falling to his hands and knees with his face hovering over Dean’s as he continues, “ _You_ are a foil. An obstacle.”

Dean says nothing, only spits in his face, and Bray rears back, looking affronted.

“How do you think,” he mutters, reaching to grab Dean roughly by the jaw and jut his head up, so all Dean can do is stare right into the stage lights or squeeze his eyes shut against them, “Seth would react if I...took care of you?”

“Fuck you,” Dean hisses, and he has more he wants to say, but suddenly there’s a scream and a thud that interrupts him. Bray no longer has a hold on his jaw so he tucks his head and rolls onto his stomach again, starting to crawl towards the ropes.

He grabs onto the bottom robe and pulls himself up on shaking arms. The fans are watching him with amazed expressions that show that they, at least, are thoroughly entertained by what’s going on. A familiar, hollow _thunk_ clues him in on what’s going on behind him before he turns himself around. When he does, he gets a close-up view of Alexa on top of Bray, wailing on him with her baseball bat.

“Leave—him—alone—you—freakin’—creep!” she shouts, accenting each word with a swing of her bat.

One full sweep of the arena and Dean can tell Elias and Alicia are already gone, likely holding no interest in getting mixed up in whatever _this_ is. He doesn’t blame them; _he’s_ not even sure what all this is, but he’s definitely sure he wants no part in it either.

He’s still pulling himself up when he catches movement in the corner of his eye, up by the ramp, and he focuses on that, only to see—

 _Seth_.

Seth is practically sprinting towards the ring, and Dean isn’t the only one to notice. The fans start cheering louder and Alexa pauses in her attack on Bray, giving him just long enough of an opening to knock her over and slam her to the floor.

Bray casts one look over his shoulder at Seth, teeth pearly white and practically gleaming as he grins at him, before he holds up a hand, fingers spread wide. The lights go off and a sudden silence envelopes the arena.

When they come back on, Bray is gone and Seth is at the ropes, breathing heavily as he looks between Dean and Alexa in shock.

The fans go absolutely wild.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

Even during commercials, the hard camera always keeps rolling. It’s odd to watch everything that went down from that sort of outside view, with a bar on the bottom of the television screen ticking down the seconds and minutes. It starts at zero with the lights coming on and Bray standing behind Dean. Three minutes in, Alexa launches herself off the top rope, wielding her bat like a sword, and it’s almost mind-blowing to realize just how quickly everything had happened.

“I didn’t know he was going to do that,” Seth says. His face is in his hands, and he refuses to look at Dean. “You shouldn’t even be involved in this, man. Shit, I just…”

“At least look at me if you’re gonna apologize,” Dean says.

Seth sighs and looks up, eyes rimmed with redness. He still doesn’t quite look Dean in the eye, but it’s a _start_. “I’m sorry,” he says.

Dean’s mouth runs dry; he can’t think of anything to say in response. It’s so fucking _pitiful_ , watching Seth like this, and the worst part is how he actually feels _bad_ for Seth.

“Yeah,” says Kurt, finally speaking up, “you should be.”

Dean and Seth both look across the desk in the makeshift office at him. Neither says anything, like two school children being scolded by their principal.

Kurt presses the off button on the remote in his hand, and the screen goes dark. His expression is grim, the lines where his brow furrows more pronounced than usual. “We were already over schedule,” he says, and there’s a tremor to his voice that gives away how much he’s struggling to stay calm. “Already over schedule, but we still let the main event go on as planned since we were _assured_ there wouldn’t be any problems keeping it under 10:10—”

“And we _did_ keep it under,” Dean interrupts, eyes narrowing. Was he really being blamed for this?

“Be quiet for once, won’t you?” Kurt snaps, slapping the remote down onto the desk with a clatter. “You’re right, yes, we didn’t go over, _but_ we also didn’t get a finish to a match fans have been waiting all week for. The pay-off and finish is just as important, if not _more_ , than the lead-up. Now, listen,” he continues, “Stephanie and Hunter are going to be pissed - at _me_. They’re going to want answers - from _me._ And I don’t know what’s going on here. Not with you two, not with Seth and Bray, none of it. Hell, I don’t really _want_ to know.” He looks at Seth, silent for a second, before he asks him, “Are you going to be able to take care of this? _That_ is all I need to know.”

“Yes, sir,” Seth answers immediately. He sits up a little straighter, shoulders squaring back. He’s the epitome of obedience, and it’s _pathetic_. “Absolutely. You don’t have to worry about it. I’ll take care of Bray. And, uh.” Looking quickly at Dean, he adds in, “Don’t get upset with Dean for any of this, please. He doesn’t have anything to do with it. This is all me and Bray.”

If there was a streak of blonde running through Seth’s hair, if he and Dean were younger and more naive, if the man behind the desk was someone else - this would be so entirely different.

Dean exhales shakily, watching Seth with a sudden caution.

“You still need me, Kurt?” he asks, keeping his eyes on Seth.

Kurt sighs. “No,” he says. “You can leave, Ambrose. Get some rest.”

Dean is up and out of the room in seconds, never taking his eyes off Seth until the door is closed. His heart beats wildly in his chest, his lungs are tight, and his hands shake a little as he hurries down the hall, away from that room.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

The next day is Raw.

Dean doesn’t know what the hell to do. After months of being the Intercontinental champion, and over a month of trying to get that title back, he’s stuck with nothing to do. But looking at the board with the tentative plan for tonight’s matches (and the noticeable lack of any matches including him), Dean decides he needs to do _something_.

He looks at the board again. There’s a sticky note in the smack-dab middle of the match plan, and on it in bright red ink is: _Bray vs. Seth????_

“Nah,” Dean mutters to himself.

He rips the sticky note off the board, crumples it up in his fist, and goes to find somebody. Who, he’s not sure. But he’ll figure it out when he gets there.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

The person he finds first is Seth.

It’s kind of awkward, walking into the locker room and seeing Seth sitting on a bench, deep in conversation with none other than Finn Bálor. They both look up at him when he enters, and Dean freezes in the doorway.

There’s silence for a few seconds, and then Finn clears his throat, looking back to Seth.

“Well,” he says, and he starts easing himself up with a slight wince, “y’know you can always talk t’me about this stuff, yeah? I’m glad to help. Could probably get in contact wi’h Ember, too, if y’wanted. She’d probably know what to do if I don’t.”

“Thank you,” Seth says with a small smile. He stands up too, and claps Finn on the shoulder. “Really, though. I appreciate it. I know we have our differences and all, but—”

“Don’t mention it,” Finn says. When he grins, his teeth look a little sharp.

Seth laughs. “Lips sealed.”

“Good.” Finn starts heading for the door. When he meets Dean’s eyes, he cocks an eyebrow at him as if to say, _what are you doing?_ “See you after the show, then.” He brushes past Dean, who’s still standing in the doorway like an absolute idiot, and then, finally, Dean and Seth are alone.

Silence fills the locker room again.

Dean takes a few steps forward, the paper crinkling in his hand.

“You workin’ with Finn?” he asks, voice low.

Seth’s eyes meet his for a second, and then lower to the floor. “Yeah.”

“So this Bray stuff – it’s serious, isn’t it?”

“He followed me to the arena,” says Seth. There’s something about his voice that doesn’t sound right, but Dean can’t figure it out. “That stupid car of his. I saw the sheep masks from my mirror.”

“Oh,” says Dean, “shit.”

Seth scoffs. “Yeah. So, to answer your question: it’s getting serious.”

“Sorry,” says Dean. “I mean, I should’ve figured, since he came after me and started talkin’ crap, but I wanted to hear it from you, I guess. You know how he is, though,” he continues. “Shit, we both do. I _really_ don’t envy you right now.”

Seth stares at him, jaw loose.

“What?” Dean asks, squinting at Seth.

“You—you said…” Seth’s fingers fidget at his side. “You said ‘sorry.’”

Dean squints harder at him. “Don’t make me take it back.”

“No,” Seth says quickly, “no, I’m not...complaining, I’m just—” He stops himself short, letting out a sharp sigh. “Okay, look, just – just tell me what you’re doing here, okay? I’ve got other stuff to—”

“Two-on-one,” Dean says, interrupting him. “You and me versus Bray. Kurt’s gonna love it; you _know_ he will.”

Seth’s expression is stricken. “Dean, seriously, what the _hell_ —”

“Just say you’ll do it.” Dean won’t admit to pleading. He never will. “Come _on_ , Rollins.”

It’s a slow, painful few seconds as Seth just stares, and Dean wonders if he’s made a horrible, terrible—

“Okay,” Seth finally says.

— _wonderful_ mistake.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ARE WE DOING THIS? IS THIS ACTUALLY FUCKING HAPPENING?? IS THIS AN ACTUAL UPDATE FOR THIS FIC IN THE YEAR OF, UH, 2018??? WILD.
> 
> took some/a lot of time to re-think my plot here. chances are i'm still gonna improv the hell out of this whole thing, but i have a basic idea of where i want to go now, so that's cool! things are getting spooky AND angsty up in here, yall. it's a good thing, tho - trust me.

“I can believe you’re working with _him_ ,” Alexa says. She glares at Seth unblinkingly, never looking away. “Again, let me re-emphasize: _him_. Just what the hell are you thinking here, Dean?”

It’s, surprisingly, a very good question.

Seth shifts on his feet, opens his mouth to say something, but Dean cuts him off by snapping at Alexa, “None of your business.”

“Excuse me?” Alexa shoots up from her seat, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Height-wise, she just reaches Dean’s shoulder, but that doesn’t stop her; she gets closer to him, her chest nearly bumping into his ribs as they stare each other down. “I’m just trying to _help you_ not be an _idiot_ , Dean. This isn’t your problem. This is _his_. You don’t have to get involved!”

“I already am, princess,” Dean drawls out, taking a step forward so they're officially chest-to-rib now. “You heard Bray, what he said to me. Don’t play _stupid_.”

Alexa takes in a shuddering breath, mouth hanging open - and then she backs down, stepping away from him. “Fine.”

“Fine,” says Dean. He steps back, too.

Alexa’s gone pale. Dean’s anger is already gone. Something’s up, and Seth intends to find out one way or another.

“Uh, so,” Seth starts, and both Dean and Alexa look to him almost in surprise, as if they’ve forgotten he was even there to begin with. He swallows, pauses to consider his words, and then continues, “honestly? Don’t get me wrong, Dean, I’m...glad, I guess, that you want to help. But Alexa has a point.”

Dean furrows his brow. “The hell are you talking about?”

“It’s _me_ ,” says Seth, a hand on his chest, over his heart. “Two months ago, you hated me. A month ago, you barely tolerated me. And now—now, with Bray, this is just—” He huffs out a breath. “What’s your plan here? Be real with me.”

“I—I don’t—” Dean lets out a laugh, disbelief etched out on his face plain as day. “Okay, wait. You’re accusing _me_ of having some ulterior motive? You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Seth shrugs his shoulders. “Not accusing. Just asking.”

“Ah, Christ.” Dean runs his tongue over his lips, chapped and torn. “You’re such a piece of work, you know that? Stop making me regret this.”

“Just tell me why,” Seth says, and it’s not a plea, it’s _not_ , it’s just—an important question. He wants an answer. “Why are you helping me?”

Dean watches him closely. There’s something so deep about his gaze, his eyes; they’re endless, and Seth could never, can’t ever guess what’s going on behind them. It’s almost unnerving. Like Dean’s trying to read his mind, delve into the fine print of his soul.

“I owe you,” is what Dean tells him. “And...Bray seems to think I’m in the way. I’m taking a proactive approach to not gettin’ murdered by his weird sheep cult.” Dean sniffs, gives a little uneasy wiggle of his shoulders. “That good enough for you, Rollins?”

Alexa glares at Seth, teeth bared like a little attack dog. “It better be good enough.”

“It is,” says Seth, holding his hands up in surrender. It's a lie, but he doesn't want to press it, not now. “It is, really. I just needed to know. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” Dean snaps. “Not _yet_ , at least.”

 

\- - - - - - -

 

Kurt keeps his face remarkably blank as Seth and Dean relay their plan to him. When they finish talking, he brings his hands to his face, clasped together as if he’s praying.

The clock ticks behind him.

“Are you two serious?” he finally asks.

Seth shares a look with Dean. “Yeah,” he says. “Completely.”

Kurt lowers his hands to the table, but they’re still in that praying position. He smacks his lips together. “You’re serious,” he says.

“Just tell us yes or no, Kurt,” Dean snaps. “Quit bein’ so dramatic.”

For a few seconds, the clock sounds like it stops ticking. Or maybe Seth’s heart stops beating. Or maybe both.

“Alright,” Kurt finally says. He sighs, slapping his hands down onto the table. “Alright, sure. You can have the match with him. We can arrange that, but I’m telling you boys now, Bray is _not_ going to be—”

“We already know,” says Seth.

Bray’s going to kill them both.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

When they tell Finn their plan, he bursts out laughing. It takes a good while for him to calm down, because every time he starts trying to talk, he gets hit with another fit of giggles, and people walk past him with curious expressions and for some reason that’s hard for him to not laugh at either.

After he finally does calm down, he clears his throat, wipes at his eyes, and says to them, “Are you _serious?_ ”

“Okay, people _really_ need to stop asking us that,” Dean grumbles.

“No, no,” Finn says quickly, “don’t get me wrong, I think you’re onto somet’in’ here. But the way you’re goin’ about it is…”

Seth frowns. “What?”

“Well.” Finn leans back against the wall, crossing his ankles. In the bright lights of the hallway, they cut across his face, making the shadows stand out deeper, the dips and falls of his face sharper. “You’ve both gone head-on wi’him now, and how well exactly has t’at gone for you two, hm?”

“Shitty,” says Seth. “But he got the drop on Dean—”

“Not on you, t’ough,” Finn says, cutting him off sharply. “You were _scheduled_ to fight him. T’at wasn’t any surprise attack. He was just _better_.”

Seth wrinkles his nose at that; it’s not even an insinuation, but an outright accusation. “What’s your point here, Finn?”

“Don’t fight him like t’is.” Finn pauses, then grins. “Actually, I s’pose you can’t back out of this fight now anyhow, so just do your best and _try_ to put a dent in him. But for future reference, fight on your own terms. He _needs_ that preparation, for more reasons t’an one, if y’catch my drift.”

“Oh,” says Seth. He lets out a little laugh. “ _Oh_.”

Dean furrows his brow. “ _Oh?_ ‘Oh’, what?”

“He—” Seth looks around at their surroundings - a crowded hallway - and then thinks better about what he’s about to say. “Just...c’mon, let’s go find a place to get some practice in. I’ll tell you then.”

“Smart move,” Finn chimes in, his grin widening. “See you ‘round, Seth.”

“Yeah,” Seth says, nodding. “Thanks, Finn. See ya.”

He grabs Dean by the shoulder and steers him out of the hallway before he can ask any more questions.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

“So, like, what’s the deal with you and Finn?”

The question startles Seth, and he nearly drops Dean out of the Sister Abigail he’s got him in. Quickly, he pulls him back up to a standing position instead of dropping him to the ground. “What do you mean?” he asks.

“The two of you are all buddy-buddy,” Dean says. He wipes sweat off his forehead, and some of it flicks off onto Seth. “It’s pretty fuckin’ weird. Thought you two hated each other.”

“We had time to sort stuff out during rehab,” Seth answers. “Guess you tend to bond when you’re out for months on injury. And, I dunno, this kind of problem is right up his alley. He came and found me after that first...problem I had with Bray.”

“He came and found you,” Dean repeats.

“Uh, yeah.” Seth raises a brow. “I was sitting in catering, and he wandered in. _Found_ isn’t the right word, I guess, since he wasn’t actively searching for me, but…”

Dean holds up a hand. “Just tell me this: are the two of you, y’know…?”

The way Dean trails off, Seth has a good idea what he’s alluding to. “Whoa, God, _no_. He’s with Bayley, dude. They’re...super _mushy_.”

Dean snorts, gnawing at his lip. “They finally bit the bullet? Shit. Tell me about whatever you two were talking about, then. That thing about Bray.”

It’s an abrupt change of subject, but that’s just how Dean is, so Seth rolls along with it. He laughs a bit, shrugging his shoulders. “Bray’s a cult leader, Dean. He does creepy cult magic or whatever. Chances are he’s probably doing _something_ before his matches to...give himself an edge. Sister Abigail helps him out, maybe. I don’t know. Point is: we need to catch him before that.”

“What, like an unofficial beat-down? They’ll toss us to the streets if we—”

“Not if there’s a camera to catch it all,” Seth says. “I mean, think about it. How many backstage fights get broadcasted on live TV and then there’s no repercussions, all because it helped with the ratings?”

“Oh, I see where you’re goin’ with this,” says Dean. He nods in approval. “Putting everything together, aren’t you?”

“Well, that _is_ my job.” Except it _isn’t_ , not anymore. Seth pauses, running a hand through his hair. Old habits die hard. “ _Was_ , I mean. Uh. Because, y’know, architect and all that.”

“Uh-huh.”

Dean nods. There’s a quirk to his lips, a smile that’s so quick Seth is barely sure he even saw it.

“We called you that for a reason, man,” Dean continues. He starts heading for the door, and he claps Seth on the shoulder – a little too hard for it to be casual – as he passes by him. “You were good at what you did. Maybe _too_ good. Hell, I probably wouldn’t have called you that if I knew that _it_ was comin’.”

 _It_.

God damn _it_.

Seth’s mouth tastes bitter, like blood and bile and shame.

The pause hangs heavy over them, a dark cloud they should’ve avoided. But maybe they shouldn’t anymore. Maybe this needs to happen.

“Well, _it_ wasn’t always the plan,” Seth says quietly, more of an aside than anything; he doesn’t expect Dean to hear him, nor care.

But Dean stops in front of the door, hand on the doorknob. He doesn’t say anything, just turns his head slightly, looking at Seth through the corner of his eye. Like he’s judging Seth. Won’t even look him head-on.

It pisses Seth off, and it makes him feel guilty, all at the same time. He’s the architect; he’s always two steps ahead of everyone else, and yet, right now, he just feels like blurting everything out.

So he does.

“Hunter approached me a few weeks beforehand. Gave me his number.” Seth’s hands are shaking. His chest is tight. He shouldn’t feel so upset about this; _he_ was the one who did _it_ , and the pain he caused both his friends, his _brothers_ , isn’t even comparable to his own now, years down the line. “I was pissed off and scared. Everyone was saying how I’d never be anything. You and Roman were the stars of the Shield, and I was just—I was just there to hold you two together. Hunter told me he could help me, if I just _listened_ , and I’d get a title and money and fame, everything he said I deserved, and I just—”

“You just listened to him instead of us,” Dean finishes for him. “You listened to that lying _suit_ who’s only it it for the goddamn money anymore, whose full intent was to _use_ you because he couldn’t handle how strong the three of us were together, instead of listening to us, your _brothers_.”

Seth swallows. “I—” There’s no denying it. “Yeah.”

In a flash, Dean turns around and starts stalking back toward Seth. His steps are long, purposeful, and he gets so close so quickly that Seth has to stumble back a few steps. There’s something wild in his eyes as he looks down at Seth. “Do you regret it?” he asks — _demands_.

Seth inhales shakily, eyes fluttering closed for a second. _Think it through_.

“I regret hurting you guys,” he answers.

“But do you regret _it?_ ”

Seth pauses.

“Well?” Dean presses. “Do you?”

“It had to be me,” Seth says quietly. “Had to. It was gonna happen eventually. We all knew that, Dean. It _had_ to be me. I threw myself out for you guys. You and Roman stuck together as long as you could after, and I _wanted_ that. I wanted you guys to be okay without me. I don’t...regret doing the inevitable.”

Dean takes a step back, his own breathing unstable. “You know what I don’t get?” He laughs. Another step back. “I don’t get how Bray thinks _I’m_ what’s keeping you from him, when you clearly didn’t care enough about me in the first place,” he spits out, harsh enough that Seth visibly flinches. One more step. “I don’t get how you think _that_ was the right fucking choice, knowing how I— how— how _we_ —” he stammers, continuing, “—felt about you. You think we were _okay?_ No. No, we _weren't_. Shit, I don’t even get why _I’m_ even helping you here. It won’t get Bray off my back; it’ll only make it _worse_.”

“I don’t get it either,” says Seth. His voice cracks. It’s embarrassing, degrading, and he shoves his hands in his pockets so Dean can’t see them shaking anymore. “You don’t have to. You really don’t.”

“Feels like I have to,” Dean mutters, looking away, lips pursing together. “Man, this is all such bullshit. What are we even doing here?”

Seth looks away, too. He doesn’t have an answer.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

“They think, by teaming up, that they will be able to defeat me,” Bray mumbles into the microphone. His eyes never stay in one spot for more than a few seconds, and he paces around the ring. He can’t keep still. “It is a _foolish_ endeavor to try to not only defeat me, but escape me. Escape me? The two of you think you can _escape_ me?” His voice grows louder and louder until he’s shouting into the microphone. He laughs brokenly, takes in a gasping breath, then falls quiet again as he whispers, “You can _never_ escape a god.”

The crowd is a steady stream of jeering and booing; they don’t like Bray, they don’t believe in what he’s saying, and they’re making sure he knows – but at the same time, Bray doesn’t care. He shakes his head, beginning to laugh again.

Just as Bray opens his mouth to continue speaking, Seth hisses into his cellphone, “Lights off — _now_. Pay attention to us out there.”

He hangs up and hands his phone off to the producer standing to the side who’s watching Seth with trepidation, clutching his clipboard to his chest. “You know,” the producer says slowly, “this isn’t, uh, part of the schedule—”

“Don’t care,” says Dean, coming up behind the producer and shoving him aside. He shares a look with Seth as the lights go off in the arena and the crowd turns irate; with a jut of his chin toward the entrance, they start heading toward it.

“Can’t believe you threatened that intern into handling the lights,” Seth mutters as they pick up the pace from a walk to a jog.

“Can’t believe you went along with it,” Dean snaps back, just as quiet. “But on a second thought? Nah, actually. I can.” He slaps Seth on the shoulder, then breaks out into a sprint for the ring.

Seth rolls his eyes as he matches Dean’s speed. He rounds the ring to enter it on the other side. It’s dark in the arena, save for the cellphone lights of all of Bray’s ‘fireflies’, and making out Bray’s figure in the ring requires squinting and a little bit of faith. It looks like he’s crouched in the opposite corner, but on a second glance Seth’s not sure if that’s Bray or Dean, but it looks big enough to be Bray, so he takes a shot in the dark -  _literally_ - and starts running at the figure. At the last second, he extends his leg, and he hears the smack as his foot connects with a face.

By the sound the figure makes, he’s found Bray.

The lights come on just a few seconds later.


End file.
